


The One Thing

by allisonsargent



Category: Football RPF
Genre: LOADS OF FUN, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Rival newspaper columnists, brotps galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonsargent/pseuds/allisonsargent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stands up from his seat, walking over to the man who he'd potentially be competing for a job with. Sergio smiles politely, like the proper Spaniard his mamá raised him to be, “Sergio Ramos García, advice columnist. Possibly a potential writer for Internacional. Nice to meet you.” </p><p>Iker eyed Sergio with an odd sense of curiosity, as if Sergio was a new breed of Spaniard Iker had never seen before -- when Sergio thought about it, damn right he was. Iker probably had never met a Sevillano as feisty as Sergio Ramos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Interview

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaaack! Sophia from down the block is here with a Seriker fic! The prompt from footy ficathon was newspaper advice columnists who passive aggressively diss each other in their columns. Throw in rival advice columnists, Seriker, and a dash of comedy, and you get this. I know the ending might not make lots of sense, but bear with me, I have a lot of hope for this fic! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that nervous people tend to talk more; it's a habit, they say, it keeps your mind off the task at hand that was making you feel nervous in the first place.
> 
> In most cases, that would've applied to Sergio Ramos. Sergio was a natural born talker, who was usually described as a blabber mouth who could never quite keep his mouth shut.
> 
> In this case, however, Sergio's mouth was unusually still, no words flooding out of his mouth as usual.
> 
> He sat alone in the lobby of Internacional Madrid, the publication he was applying for a job at. They were in need of an advice columnist, and after Sergio's best friend, Fernando Torres, pointed out the magazine's ad in the newspaper, Sergio decided to call and see if it was possible to set up an interview.
> 
> It was.
> 
> Fast forward three weeks later, and Sergio was sitting in an particularly spacious chair, drumming his fingers against the arms of the sleek cherrywood chair nervously. He'd never been in a situation like this before. The only serious job interview that he'd ever had was back when he was 20, and he had filled out an application to work at the record store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER FIC. AH.

They say that nervous people tend to talk more; it's a habit, they say, it keeps your mind off the task at hand that was making you feel nervous in the first place.

In most cases, that would've applied to Sergio Ramos. Sergio was a natural born talker, who was usually described as a blabber mouth who could never quite keep his mouth shut.

In this case, however, Sergio's mouth was unusually still, no words flooding out of his mouth as usual.

He sat alone in the lobby of Internacional Madrid, the publication he was applying for a job at. They were in need of an advice columnist, and after Sergio's best friend, Fernando Torres, pointed out the magazine's ad in the newspaper, Sergio decided to call and see if it was possible to set up an interview.

It was.

Fast forward three weeks later, and Sergio was sitting in an particularly spacious chair, drumming his fingers against the arms of the sleek cherrywood chair nervously. He'd never been in a situation like this before. The only serious job interview that he'd ever had was back when he was 20, and he had filled out an application to work at the record store.

He didn't think that applying for a job to shelve records at a small little record shop in Sevilla could be an equivalent to applying for an advice columnist job at one of the most prestigious newspapers in Madrid.

“Mr. Ramos, would you like some water?”

Sergio's head whipped toward the direction of the voice, stunned by the sudden break of silence. He acknowledged the source of the voice as the Internacional secretary, who had formally introduced herself as Irina.

Sergio's chapped lips parted slightly, but the words that formed in his mind just didn't want to leave his lips. So instead, he opted for a muted response, giving Irina a shaky nod.

“Mhm.” She brushes the lint of her knee length pencil skirt -- even though Sergio saw no lint at all -- and practically sashays over to the water cooler, her hips swaying almost seductively with each step.

She selects a blue cup from the cup dispenser, placing it under the nozzle of the water cooler and pressing down on the button, the water flowing into the cup. Irina only fills it up midway, and when she's done, she hands it to Sergio.

But, she doesn't go back to her desk, instead she seats herself in the chair opposite of Sergio. Her green eyes bore into Sergio intensively, and the Spaniard swears he felt like he was being penetrated by the vehement look in her eyes.

“Um.. Everything okay?”

“Yes,” She replies, but leans in tentatively, to swipe her index finger across Sergio's face, “But, has anyone every told you that you look like a horse?”

“I -- uh, no?” Sergio was startled by the sudden question, especially since no, he's never been told that he looks like a horse. Was it the hair? Probably the hair.

“Well, you've been told,” she replies simply, studying Sergio's face in great length, “You're nervous, aren't you?”

“Kind of. I've never really applied for a job as like, big as this before.”

“Understandable. Have you ever worked at a magazine office before?”

“No..”

“How do you expect to get this job then?”

“Well.. I run an advice blog? It's pretty well known, and I've been told I'm pretty good at it.”

“By who? Your mother?” She quips, arching her perfectly plucked blows as if it furthered her inquiry.

“No!” He says, coming off as defensive, but then he hangs his head a little, “My best friend..”

“Oh great. Do you know who they're interviewing right now?” She leans in and places an companionable hand on Sergio's arm, “Iker Casillas. Spanish journalist extraordinaire. He's worked at several magazines, he's very well known in Spain. And he's vying for the same position you are.”

And with her words, Sergio's heart flutters a bit with sadness. He had heard of Iker Casillas, consultant of all things advice. There's no way he'd get this job if he was up against the great Iker Casillas -- or, better known as his sign off name 'San Iker' -- even if he had the best résumé.

“I'm dead.” Sergio mutters under his breath, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. He really did want this job, but if he had to compete with Iker Casillas for it, he wasn't sure if he'd get the job -- or if he'd even be considered!

And just at that moment, the door opens, and out walks Iker Casillas, in all his saintly glory. Sergio had never met -- or even seen -- Iker before, so this was something new.

“Afternoon, Mr. Casillas.” Irina greets promptly, her tone lightweight and pleasant, unlike it had been several moments ago while speaking to Sergio.

Rude.

“Afternoon,” He smiles, tone all politely and well -- saintly. He then nods his head towards Sergio, his tone becoming much more informal, “Who's this guy?”

“Sergio --” Irina starts, but oh no, Sergio is right there and he doesn't need a secretary to speak for him.

He stands up from his seat, walking over to the man who he'd potentially be competing for a job with. Sergio smiles politely, like the proper Spaniard his mamá raised him to be, “Sergio Ramos García, advice columnist. Possibly a potential writer for Internacional. Nice to meet you.”

Iker eyed Sergio with an odd sense of curiosity, as if Sergio was a new breed of Spaniard Iker had never seen before -- when Sergio thought about it, damn right he was. He probably had never met a Sevillano as feisty as Sergio Ramos.

Iker extended his hand wearily, “Iker Casillas Fernández, also an advice columnist. The best in all of Spain. It's a pleasure.”

“Best in Spain, huh? That's a pretty big weight there. You sure that's not a little white lie?” He paused, “How about the best in Madrid?”

And Iker actually seemed offended, “No, I mean what I say.” He pauses, “I've never heard of you, Sergio Ramos, what significant things have you ever done?”

Sergio couldn't even answer that -- because honestly, the most important thing he'd ever done in his life was save Fernando from drowning in his childhood pool.

On a grand scale of things, how important was saving your best friend from drowning?

Okay, well, maybe that was sort of important, but that was when Fernando and Sergio were 10. And news flash, Sergio was 28, and Fernando was 30!

“I'm uh.. Well -- what have you done?” Sergio retorts, his politeness fading as his posture slouches, and he folds his arms.

“I've --”

And, at just the right moment, the double doors swung open for a second time, and a thin, Italian looking man poked his head out the door, “Mr. Ramos? I'll see you now.”

Sergio sighed a heavy sigh of relief, but was everything but hesitant as he picked up his messenger bag from the side of the chairs and headed toward the door. He looked back at both Iker and Irina, sticking his tongue out at both of them, “Adíos.”

Sergio followed his interviewer into the office, plopping down into the lone guest chair. The Italian -- Mr. Cannoli? No, no, Mr. Ancelotti -- shut the door, and sat in his chair, staring at Sergio.

Dios. His stare was even worse than Irina's!

Wait. No, no, there's nothing worse than an angry woman's stare -- at least, that's what his mamá had told him, and Sergio believed her.

“So, Mr. Ramos,” Mr. Ancelotti glanced up, and Sergio assumed that that was to confirm that he had pronounced his name right, which he did, “Introduce yourself.”

“I'm uh, Sergio Ramos. Amateur blogger, expert giver of advice.. I'm just a genuine sort of person, you know? Very likable.. Uh.. Can I give you my résumé?”

Mr. Ancelotti nods his head, and Sergio sighs, thanking his lucky stars because asking Sergio to explain himself was the hardest thing to do. The Spaniard opens his messenger bag -- courtesy of his best friend, Fernando, of course -- and reaches into it, grabbing a sleek, black folder.

“Here you go, sir.” And Sergio hands him the folder politely, and Mr. Ancelotti accepts it, smiling an overly sweet smile.

He seems nice.

The Italian then takes the résumé, and shoves it into the shredder. Sergio watched in horror as his résumé -- the same résumé that took him two hours to compose, and an additional thirty minutes to revise -- was reduced to small, color coded pieces of paper confetti.

“What was that?!”

“That.. Was me shredding your résumé? What did it look like?”

“But..” Sergio looks down then, feeling bewildered by the Italian's actions, “Don't you need that?”

“No, Mr. Ramos, I don't. See, you don't have the authority to tell me what I need, and what I do not need. Now, I'll teach you a very valuable lesson. Instead of reading over your résumé,” He pauses, glancing at the shredded paper, “Which I gather is very boring, I'll be administrating this job interview a little differently.”

And on the outside, Sergio keeps himself together, because that's all he really can do. Be calm, cool, and collected is what he tells himself, as he keeps the anxiety bubbling up in his stomach at bay. On the inside, though? He freaks.

Because, Sergio'll be honest -- he didn't plan for an out of the box interview. He planned for a standard, bland interview; he didn't stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, this would be different.

“Okay..”

“Instead, I'm going to give you a question, and I want you to give me advice. If I think your advice is good, I'll hire you.”

“Right on the spot?”

“Right on the spot.”

“Deal. What do you want me to answer?”

Mr. Ancelotti leaned back in his chair, an emotionless look on his face as he stared at the Sevillian boy.

Who, for the record, felt very very small despite that fact that he was 6 feet tall.

Figures.

“Mr. Ramos, answer me this.. What is the proper way to fire an employee? There's a certain.. secretary.. That needs firing. How should I do it?”

“A secretary? Is it.. Irina? On the outside desk?”

“Are you a mind reader as well, Mr. Ramos? Very well,” The man nods, “It is Ms. Shayk. Her working skills aren't very.. Good, per say. I've been told by many that she's very rude.”

And then, Sergio's conscious was practically screaming at him to defend Irina. Then again, why should he? She did call him a horse.

Sergio somehow found himself defending her anyway, “But.. Mr. Ancelotti, you can't fire her! She was very.. Welcoming, to me. She gave me water, and calmed me down because I was really nervous.”

In reality, Irina wasn't welcoming and made him way more nervous than he had initially been.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir! And she even.. She uh.. She was nice to me. So, you can't fire her..”

“Mr. Ramos, are you going to sit here and defend Ms. Shayk, or are you going to campaign for your job?”

“You can't fire her..”

“Very well. I won't fire her.”

Sergio looked at him, stunned, “Really?”

“You have spunk. I like you. This interview is concluded.” Mr. Ancelotti stood up, holding his hand out for Sergio to shake.

“T-Thank you, sir!” Sergio stood up quickly, shaking the man's hand firmly.

Mr. Ancelotti took his place back in his seat, and Sergio awkwardly waddled to the door that led out to the office. Did he get the job, or..?

“You'll be getting a call, Mr. Ramos.”

And Sergio did a little victory dance inside. He was a conqueror, like his mamá said -- he agreed with her.

As the Sevillian walked out into the lobby, Iker and Irina were both huddled close, whispering in Spanish. As Sergio walked past, Irina's head snapped up, “So --”

“I wouldn't say anything besides thank you, if I were you, Ms. Shayk.” Then Sergio held his head up high as he walked out of the office, and into the crisp Spain air.

Then he called his best friend, Fernando; he was desperately in need for a drink. As soon as possible.


	2. Divine Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The spot you applied for was given to,” and James pauses, his voice dreamy as he says the following words, “San Iker Casillas..” 
> 
> And Sergio grips his glass of wine tightly. That snooty, uptight Spaniard writer got the job Sergio had applied for? 
> 
> Iker might've been more qualified, had more experience, older, had a good following in Madrid, and -- hey, that's not the point! 
> 
> Sergio was just as good as any San Iker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy <3

“So, you just walked out like that? And you stuck your tongue out at them? Woah.”

“Yeah.. You think that was a stupid mistake?” 

The fair headed Spaniard shrugged at his best friend, as he reached into the fridge, grabbing the previously opened bottle of wine that sat on the door rack. He grabbed two glasses, scurrying over to the couch where Sergio sat.

“Stupid? Oh no, Sese, that's iconic,” Fernando says with one of those stupid grins, pouring the chilled wine into his glass, “Well, hey, at least they'll remember you.” 

Sergio's best friend, Fernando, hadn't been at their apartment the day that Sergio got back from the interview. After thoroughly searching through his voicemails, Sergio remembered that Fernando had stayed over his girlfriend's house for the past two days. 

A day after the interview had taken placed, the two Spaniards were sitting in their living room, drinking wine as Sergio recounted the story to his friend. 

They'd lived together ever since the two decided that they were going to move to the heart of Madrid. Being best friends they decided to rent a quaint little apartment right in Madrid's center. They'd lived there for almost two years now, and Sergio could admit, there's no other person he'd rather share an apartment with than Fernando. 

After you dye each other's hair, saved each other from drowning, and bathed in tomato sauce together -- it's a long story -- you'd expect the two to be close friends; and they were. 

“Shut up, Nando,” Sergio groaned, pouring some red wine into his own glass, “They were supposed to call me. And I haven't gotten a call! That's a bad thing, isn't it?” 

“It's been a day.” says Fernando, or better known as, Sergio's voice of reason. 

Sergio was the reckless, carefree one in the friendship, while Fernando was the sensible, smart one. They meshed perfectly, and balanced each other out. 

“And? A day and four hours is certainly enough time to call someone!” 

And then it happens, as if there was a divine intervention; Sergio's phone rings. He practically leaps at it, almost knocking over Nando's glass of wine, which causes Fernando to whine like a cat.

He picks it up, “Hey, hi, hola? Who's this?”

There's a long pause on the end of the line, and Sergio sighs, wondering if this was just another case of the wrong number, or maybe a prank call  
\-- or even worse, a telemarketer. He was sure he didn't want any anti balding hair cream, so he hoped it wasn't a telemarketer. 

“H-Hola.” says the voice, the speaker was soft speaking, with a slight stutter. 

“Uh.. Who's speaking?” 

And from across the couch, Fernando looks at Sergio in confusion, mouthing a 'who is it' at the Spaniard. Sergio shrugs his shoulders, because honestly, he had no idea who it was, and there had been no caller ID. 

“James R-Rodriguez from R-Reporte Madrid.. Is this Sergio R-Ramos speaking?” 

Reporte Madrid? No, Sergio had applied for a job at Internacional -- not the rival magazine, Reporte. 

“This is Sergio Ramos, yes.. How can I help you, uh, James?” 

“We were given a r-recommendation by Carlo Ancelotti, and I was told that I had to call you to set up an interview.” 

Really? 

“I didn't.. But, I applied for a job at Internacional?” 

“The spot you applied for was given to,” and James pauses, his voice dreamy as he says the following words, “San Iker Casillas..” 

And Sergio grips his glass of wine tightly. That snooty, uptight Spaniard writer got the job Sergio had applied for? 

Iker might've been more qualified, had more experience, older, had a good following in Madrid, and -- hey, that's not the point! 

Sergio was just as good as any San Iker. 

Who even names their kid Iker? What's an Iker? If you replace the r with an a, his name could be the name of the big furniture store in Madrid -- IKEA, the name of the store is. For all Sergio knew, maybe Iker's parents liked IKEA so much, but didn't want to name their kid after a furniture store. 

“Oh.. Well, I thought Internacional and Reporte were rivals?” 

“Well, we are r-rivals, technically. Bit, the r-rivalry is more made by the employees, not the owners. Mourinho and Ancelotti are good friends, actually.” And James laughs, “That's top secret information, between you and I.”

“Well, I won't tell, promise. So, when can I come in?” 

“How's tomorrow, at 10?” James proposes, after a pause

“I'll be there.” 

“Good.” Sergio hears scribbling in the background, like James was writing something down, “You'll be meeting with our head editor, Cristiano R-Ronaldo, and he'll tell you about your position.” 

“Okay, that's sounds great. Thank you, James.” 

“No problem, Mr. R-Ramos..” stutters James, who sounds eager to end the call. 

“Call me Sergio.. Mr. Ramos isn't necessary, James! It's okay.” 

And Sergio hears the smile over the line, “Okay.. Sergio. I'll see you tomorrow at 10. Don't forget!” 

“I won't.” Sergio confirms, before hanging up the phone, and looking up at Fernando with a grin -- a confused one, nevertheless. 

Fernando raises his eyebrows, “Well?” 

“I got a job! But, not at Internacional, but at Reporte.” 

“Damn! Sese, I'm so proud of you! Reporte has those funny comics, the ones written by that Brazilian guy, what's his name --” 

“Marcelo?” 

“That's it!” exclaims Fernando, “Marcelo Viera.. That's amazing, Sese! But, I thought you were interviewed at Internacional?” 

“Apparently, I was referred to Reporte by the guy I was interviewed by.” 

“Mr. Cannoli?” 

“Yeah,” Sergio laughs, “I have an interview at 10, tomorrow!” 

And Fernando leans in, squeezing Sergio into a hug -- also taking Sergio's wine glass in the process, “I'm so proud of you.” 

After Fernando lets go, he leaps off the couch, sipping the entirety of Sergio's wine. Sergio then whines at his best friend, “Oh my gosh, come mierda, Nando! I'll put glue in your shampoo!” 

“I'll put purple hair dye in yours!” Fernando calls back jokingly. 

Sergio gasps in mock shock, “You wouldn't! I take pride in my hair, Torres!”

“Oh, I would, Reporte man! You don't know what I'm capable of!” Fernando laughs, as he jogs up the stairs, still holding his wine glass, “I'm going to go take a shower.” 

“With the wine glass?” 

“Trying to try some new things.” Fernando grins mischievously, wiggling his eyes brows suggestively, before breaking out into laughter. 

And Sergio laughs -- only Fernando, he thought. 

Then, after he hears the bathroom door shut, and the water start to run, Sergio goes up to his room, and plans out his outfit for the next day. It was a big interview, a big deal, overall. 

Losing the job at Internacional would either be a good thing, or one hell of a disaster; and Sergio was excited to found out which one that would be.


	3. Offenses and Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He flashed Sergio this pearly white smile, and the Spaniard’s eyes widened because whoever this was was just extremely stunning. The man extended his arm out, “Señor Ramos, I assume? I'm Cristiano, Cristiano Ronaldo, head manager of design and editing at Reporte.”
> 
> Sergio rose from his seat, shaking Cristiano's hand, “Sergio Ramos. Nice to meet you, señor Ronaldo.”
> 
> “Quit it with the señor. I'm thirty, not a day older. I'd prefer Cristiano, if you're okay with that, of course?”
> 
> Somehow, Sergio’s eyes made his way over to James at the desk, who continuously kept glancing up from his notepad to peer at Cristiano. When Sergio caught his eye, that was exactly what the Colombian was doing; staring at Cristiano.
> 
> Sergio's eyes widened at the same moment James' did, and the young Colombian looked away at once, as if he was ashamed. Quickly, the Spaniard averted his attention back to Cristiano, “Yes, Cristiano is fine. But, only if you call me Sergio.”
> 
> And Cristiano did it again, flashing this beautiful smile that made Sergio slightly dizzy, “You have a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this idea and this story, and it's a shame that I don't update this as much as I should. I had major writing block but I just got around to this chapter, I apologize for it's length, it's a little long. But, I really hope you guys like! :D comments and kudos are always appreciated.

Truthfully, Sergio wasn't a particularly nervous person. No, no, Sergio Ramos was the type of guy who dived into things head first, he always took the risk, no matter the conditions. But, he had to admit that the idea of going in to work and finding out his new job was a little intimidating, even for Sergio.

Fernando, his best friend, had waken him up early, and was nice enough to actually make him coffee, with some toasted bread and butter. Sergio knows that if he would've tried to toast the bread the way Nando did it — or even try to remotely cook — he'd burn down the apartment.

Sergio scarfed down his breakfast hungrily, because he'd had a meager dinner portion last night. And the appetizing, yet simple, breakfast Nando had made looked delicious.

Sergio had flew out the door as soon as the last bite went into his mouth. He still had an hour to spare until he was scheduled to be at the office, but hey, would could Sergio say? He liked to make first impressions, so being there early would probably be seen as professional; or at least, that's the way he was looking at it.

Going to the office lead Sergio down certain streets in Madrid that he never bothered to go down in his time here The streets were quaint at a moments glance, but close up, there was color all across the the streets. Small vendors were set up on the sidewalks, selling fruits and Madrileño delicacies, and family owned shops decorated the streets, giving it life. It was beautiful, and the office wasn't located too far off from these lively streets — a measly ten minutes, maybe. To say the least, he could say that he would enjoy driving down these streets in the morning. And maybe, if he had done some spare time, Sergio himself would take a leisurely stroll in the city; but not today, though.

He made it to the building later than he'd intended to, but in reality, he was still extremely early as he pulled his car into the parking lot. Sergio took a deep breath as he extracted the keys from the ignition, and inserted them into the pockets of his pants. On the way out of the car, he grabbed his small, briefcase that had been placed in the passenger seat, then made his way towards the building.

The walk from the parking lot shouldn't have taken Sergio more than five or six minutes, but considering he was early, he walked unhurriedly down the walkway. His actions earned him several looks from workers pulling into the parking lot, but Sergio simply smiled his charming smile — he wouldn't be dragged down, no, not today.

As he reached the entrance, two guards glanced over to Sergio. He grinned, as he walked past them, surprised that they weren't going to stop him, was he actually this important now — “Hello? You think you can just walk into a building like that? Get back here.” called one of the guards, and Sergio slowly moved back to where the two had been standing.

“Who are you?” inquired a guard with a different voice than the one who'd just yelled at Sergio. This guard had a slightly calmer tone, but you could still hear the edge in his voice — similar to the 'I'll be nice to you now, but say something rude and I'll rip you apart' kind of edge, which scared Sergio, so he replied politely.

“Uh, Sergio Ramos? It's my first day, and I have an interview with uh —” What's his name, oh no, Sergio couldn't even remember. The pause made it seemed as if he was lying, but he wasn't, he really just didn't remember, “Christian Rolando?”

The two guards exchanged glances, before breaking out into boisterous laughter. “Christian Rolando, that's rich!” hollered one, while the other nodded in agreement, laughing quietly in comparison to his compatriot. One took out his walkie talkie, pressing a bright red button then speaking into the speaker, “Yeah, boss? We got a Sergio Ramos here, says he has an interview with you.”

After a minute or two of silence on the other hand, the three got a reply from whoever was on the other line, “Sergio Ramos? Yeah, I'm meeting with him to give him his assignment. He's like.. Thirty minutes early, but send him up.”

Both guards looked at him, and then with a look of approval, they allowed Sergio to pass into the building.

With his briefcase practically glued to his side, Sergio made his way past the secretary — who looked way friendlier than Irina had, if he was keeping score — and past the second set of guards, who to Sergio's surprise, let him by without any interrogation. He was then faced with his hardest choice of his whole morning..

Stairs or elevator?

* * *

 

Sergio eventually ended up making the choice to take the stairs, which at a first thought, looked like a good idea. He'd be getting a little morning aerobics in, which would work towards getting healthier — _go Sergio_ , he thought, _thinking healthy_.

He suddenly didn't want to think healthy though, when he realized that his office was on the 9th floor of the building.

Still, he was determined to make it up the stairs, one way or another. So, he started jogging up the steps, and he kept up the pace up to the fourth floor. “Ninth floor,” groaned Sergio, “Why? Who walks up nine flights of stairs?”

Once he got to the fifth floor, Sergio was absolutely and utterly tired. To say the least, he didn't bother running to the ninth floor, rather, he trudged to his destination. And when he finally saw the door to his office, he sighed the biggest sigh of relief as he tumbled into the office.

“I'm here!” announced Sergio, expecting a room full of people.

This was most definitely not the whole office, Sergio knew, but this looked like a reception area. There was a large sliding glass door that Sergio assumed lead to the other side of the office. However, in this area, there was only one person — a young male, to be more specific — who was sitting at a spacious desk, with a headset on his head, and a phone in his hand.

When he saw Sergio enter the room, he gulped audibly, rushing to end his current call to attend to Sergio, “O-One moment, please. I'll transfer your call to señor Vieira.” The boy pressed one of the various buttons on his desk phone, and even from where he was standing, he heard the dial tone, then the sound of someone picking up, “Celo'? I'm transferring a call your way. It's a certain señor Coentrão? Yes, yes, he's calling again. He he wants to arrange a meeting with you and C-Cris — Yeah? O-Okay.”

After the last word left his mouth, the receptionist ended the call hastily, not wasting a moment to give his attention to Sergio, “Welcome to R-Reporte Madrid. Do you have an appointment?”

And with the stuttering of the r's, Sergio realized that this boy was the same one who had called him last night, “James? That’s you, right? James Rodríguez? You called me yesterday!” Sergio approached the desk, holding out his hand in a friendly manner, “Sergio Ramos.”

James’ cheeks blushed a bright red as he leaned over the desk to shake Sergio’s hands, “Oh! señor Ramos, forgive me, I didn't r-recognize your voice.”

“Señor? Diosito, don't make me sound like I'm old, James. Sergio works just fine.”

“Sergio? O-Okay. Won’t you sit down? I'm not sure how long señor R-Ronaldo will take to come out of his meeting.”

Sergio sat down in one of the plush black seats, “Do you call everyone señor, James?”

James adjusted his headset, shrugging lightly, “I am a r-receptionist, señor — I mean, Sergio,” He caught himself, and Sergio grinned, “I have to. It’s a sign of r-respect, si? And when I'm talking to a lady, it's señora, or señorita. If I spoke otherwise, it wouldn't be r-respectful.”

“Would you lose your job?”

“Possibly, señor.. Sorry,” He blushed bright red, “It's a habit. Anyway, if I give a bad impression, some callers might hang up, or r-report me to my superiors. And then I'll lose my job.”

“What happens if you lose your job? Would you be upset?”

“Well.. Yes. I just moved to Madrid a few months ago — I think, maybe o-one or two? It's the o-only job I have, and I get good money from it. If I lose my job, I would go back to my Colombia.”

“I see.. You don't have a, er, significant other?”

“A.. Significant other?” James bit his lip, “Like, a partner, or something?”

“That's what I meant!”

“Are you trying to flirt with me, señor?” James was most obviously confused, his brows were furrowed, as if he was deep in thought, and his cheeks were stained red. He probably didn't get this question a lot, Sergio figured.

“No! I ask because it’d be terrible if you came here to Madrid all alone. You don't have any friends or anyone who came with you?”

James laughed an almost nervous laugh before continuing, “O-Oh. I see.. No, just me! Nobody else in my family r-really liked the idea of me coming here. But, I've always wanted to come to Madrid.”

“To be a _receptionist_?”

 _Shit_. That’s not what he wanted to say.

 _Sergio_ , his mind yelled, _that was rude_!

“I'm _so_ sorry,” Sergio scrambled to apologize, because really, the words just came out unfiltered. He hadn’t meant to offend him, not _at all_ , “That's not what I meant, James —”

James’ smile wavered slightly, and he adjusted his headset for about the third time, a nervous trait he'd inhabited, “— No, no, señor. Don't apologize,” He glanced down towards the phone, picking it up and balancing between his shoulder and the side of his head, “I shouldn't have been this personal with you, it's my fault. _Discúlpeme_. Let me see if I could get Señor R-Ronaldo.”

And now, Sergio felt like a total asshole. James seemed like one of those truly nice people in the world, and somehow, Sergio had managed to offend him. He wanted to take the words back, but James was already on the phone.

“Hola, señor? Perdóname, but we have a señor R-Ramos in the reception area? He has a meeting with you.” James tapped a pen on a nearby notepad, as he waited to reply, “Yes, he's early.” Another pause, “Would you like for me to send him in?”

James glanced over at Sergio with a look spared of any sentiment — the Colombian looked emotionless, which made Sergio frown. With a few inaudible words into the speaker, James placed the phone down, looking away from Sergio, and rather, at the notepad, “Señor R-Ronaldo will be here shortly.”

Shortly, however, was an understatement, because the moment James finished speaking, a man waltzed into the reception area. He was tall — taller than Sergio — with a sturdy, muscular physique visible even through the crisp white shirt he wore, that was accompanied by a black blazer, and black dress pants. He flashed Sergio this pearly white smile, and the Spaniard’s eyes widened because whoever this was was just extremely stunning. The man extended his arm out, “Señor Ramos, I assume? I'm Cristiano, Cristiano Ronaldo, head manager of design and editing at Reporte.”

Sergio rose from his seat, shaking Cristiano's hand, “Sergio Ramos. Nice to meet you, señor Ronaldo.”

“Quit it with the señor. I'm thirty, not a day older. I'd prefer Cristiano, if you're okay with that, of course?”

Somehow, Sergio’s eyes made his way over to James at the desk, who continuously kept glancing up from his notepad to peer at Cristiano. When Sergio caught his eye, that was exactly what the Colombian was doing; staring at Cristiano.

Sergio's eyes widened at the same moment James' did, and the young Colombian looked away at once, as if he was ashamed. Quickly, the Spaniard averted his attention back to Cristiano, “Yes, Cristiano is fine. But, only if you call me Sergio.”

And Cristiano did it again, flashing this beautiful smile that made Sergio slightly dizzy, “You have a deal.” Cristiano then looks towards James, “Hola, chiquito?”

James looked up at lightning speed, “Si, señor?”

Cristiano sauntered over to James, and from the sidelines, Sergio watched the encounter. Cristiano leaned over the desk slightly, getting close, “Would you do me a favor, chiquito?”

James audibly gulped, shaking his head vivaciously, “Si! _Anything,_ señor R-Ronaldo, what do you need?”

“I need you to call señor Dañilo and confirm our photoshoot?”

James picked up his notepad, “The o-one on Thursday at two?”

“That'd be it, chiquito! We need that photoshoot for our ending spread in this upcoming month's issue. And tell Dañilo that we need to have to get the pictures sent over as soon as they're done! We need to get Toni to edit them, make the colors bright, etcetera, etcetera. You know the deal, si?”

James nodded.

“Perfecto. You're the best, chiquito. Thank you!” Cristiano backed away from the desk, looking over to Sergio, “C'mon, how would you like a tour of the office? I'll introduce you to some of our staff.”

Sergio told him that'd he love that, and with a friendly smile, Cristiano lead Sergio out of the reception area, through the sliding doors, and into the office.

Describing the office accurately would've been a major challenge to Sergio, considering that it was so full of life and vigor, it was a setting Sergio knew he'd like almost immediately. He followed Cristiano, listening as he spoke, “Welcome to Reporte Madrid's headquarters, or pretty much, our main office. Here at Reporte, we aim to be Madrid's number one magazine, and with that, we try to make our readers excited about every new issue by giving them the most interesting articles and interviews, etcetera, etcetera. We are Madrid's top lifestyle magazine, and second in Madrid overall.”

“And the first is?”

Cristiano looked back at Sergio, sighing, “Internacional.”

“Ah.. I see. Anyway, continue about Reporte.” Sergio saw he struck a nerve, so he quickly corrects himself, before it gets worse.

Cristiano nodded, getting back into presentation mode. Sergio reckons that Cristiano is a great presenter, considering how confident he appears to be, and how his speech flows well — he would also make a good car salesman, but that, Sergio thinks, is beside the point. “Summer is coming to a close, and Autumn is right on the front door. That means that our whole magazine shifts a bit. We leave all the tips for great summer barbecues, interviews with celebrities on the beach, and best summer activities behind. Now, we move more into Autumn topics — for example, in our September issue, we usually focus our articles on school tips, like how to ace tests and make friends, things like that. And considering we like opening our magazine for all readers, we include other things.”

“Such as?”

“Instead of just explaining, I'll help to give you a little more in depth explanation. By not entirely by me. Come on!” Cristiano leads Sergio to three small cubicles, each one personally decorated inside, giving it a little homey feel. “Meet Benzema, Bale, and Jesé. They're the masterminds behind our 'picks of the week' section. Introduce yourselves, guys to our newest office addition, Sergio. _Oh,_ and explain what you do.”

“Hey Sergio, I'm Karim Benzema, but Karim or Benz works just fine! And I'm the head of the match of the week section. Basically, I pick my favorite soccer match of the week, and then one upcoming match, and explain it. It's really a hit with the readers, male and female.”

Karim looked over to the guy next to him, and the other man took this as the signal to speak, “Hi! I'm Gareth Bale, but _Gear-Bear_ is my nickname.” Something about his smile gave Sergio the impression that he was joking, but the Spaniard didn't question it, “And I write the novela of the week section. I do the same thing Benz does, except with novelas. Usually though, I give a mini review of a novela that's currently on, and then, if circumstances comply, with help from our friends at _Estación del Mundo,_ I give a pretty basic synopsis of an upcoming novela.”

Gareth then smacked the boy next to him on the back, causing a small scream to come from his mouth. Since this boy was the only one to not speak, by process of elimination, Sergio figured this was Jesé. The boy coughed, “Hi, I'm Jesé! And I write the pick of the week for music. What I do is listen to the newest upcoming albums, singles, and artist, choose one of each, and write about them. The younger readers really appreciate it, I think, because I'm coming from their perspective, y'know?”

 _“Shut up,_ Jesé! You're twenty two, _not_ seventeen, man.” groaned Bale, “He's always like _'I represent the young crowd_ '. I swear, he thinks he's seventeen. He comes in with high school looking shirts, and everyone's like, _Jesé_ _no_! But, he does what he wants.”

“Stop, Gareth,” Benzema rolled his eyes, “Anyway, that's what we do, Sergio. Welcome to Internacional!”

Sergio smiled, and was on the verge of thanking them, but Cristiano did it for the both of them, escorting Sergio away.

“They seem nice.” commented Sergio.

Cristiano didn't reply, but instead, took him into a small room that was filled two of the simplest things; light, and people. “Okay, this is Isco,” Cristiano pointed to the brunet on the right, then to the blond on his side, “And that's Toni. Explain what you do guys.”

“Hi! I'm Isco, and I'm head of photography development. Basically, it's a one man job, and I like it. I go on interviews with the interviewers, and I take pictures for the magazine. I develop them, and then I give them to my partner over here.. Explain what _you_ do, Toni.”

“Hello, nice to meet you.. I'm Toni..” The blond seemed shy, and hesitant to answer, but he did nevertheless, “Well, uh, when Isco is done with the pictures, he sends them to me. Then, I edit them with a photo editor.. _Photoshop_? I just fix the brightness and colors of the pictures, make sure nothing looks awry, like red eyes or anything.” Toni laughs, “So, I'm the head of the editing department.”

Cristiano mods, as if he agreed with everything they said, “When we have all our headlines and article titles, these two come together to compose the cover. It's a lot of work, so we're thinking of hiring interns. But, Isco and Toni like doing it all by themselves, don't you, guys?”

The two boys nodded.

“Thanks for your time, boys, I know it's limited. See you later!” Cristiano said, bringing the conversation to an end.

“Bye!” whispered Sergio, waving at the two boys, and smiling when they waved back. “Now where?”

“Now you're going to meet Celo! Well, Marcelo, technically, but we all call him Celo.. He's like second in charge, so if I'm not here, he runs the office. But, that's not his job, and I'm here ninety nine percent of the time. His real job is interviewer. He does all our interviews. Over the phone, or in person, he's the guy. Real sociable. You'll see.”

As the two made their way, they eventually stopped at an office, instead of a cubicle or a room. Cristiano rapped on the doors a few times, “ _Oi_ , _Celo_! Open the door.”

“ _Voy_!” called Marcelo, and in about a moment or two, the door was opened by Marcelo, who was sitting in a chair with wheels. With a grin, he rolled himself back to his desk on his chair. When the chair reached the desk, Marcelo stood, walking to the opposite side of his desk, hopping onto it. It was quiet, and his eyes went from Cristiano, to Sergio Sergio, then back to Cristiano. He raised his eyebrows, “Is this our new holy advisor of advice?”

“That'd be him.” answered Cristiano, “Sergio Ramos, Marcelo Vieira. Marcelo Vieira, Sergio Ramos.”

Sergio smiled, reaching over to shake Marcelo's hand. The man took it in the friendliest of manners, and shook it thoroughly. With an enthusiastic smile, he introduced himself, “Nice to meet you, Sergio. As Cris already said, I'm Marcelo Vieira.” His Spanish, was fluent, but Sergio could hear the undertones of a Brazilian dialect, “However, he did neglect to mention that I am interviewer to the stars. Also, I'm kickass at FIFA.”

“We'll have to play FIFA sometime, because I think I'm kickass at it, too.”

“Well, we usually have an after work meet up every Friday? It's at Cristiano's, because he's the only one with a place that can fit all of us. We order pizza, drink beer, and play FIFA. Unless we have an issue due that week, because then we don't get together. But, we usually do, so you can come, if you want?”

“That sounds great, actually, thanks!” Sergio was grinning from ear to ear. He loved making new friends!

“Anyway, thanks, Celo!” smiled Cris, “I'm going to take him to his cubicle, okay?”

Marcelo returned to his spinning chair, retiring there, “Yeah, you do that! Nice to meet you, Sergio. Hope everything's to your satisfaction.”

Sergio nodded, and Cristiano escorted him out of the office. He led Sergio down a walkway, then they made a left, entering an empty cubicle, “This is yours! You'll be working here everyday, so you have the freedom to decorate however you like. We supply the computer, as you can see.”

Sergio glanced towards the computer, then back at Cristiano. The Spaniard sat down in his chair, and pulled into the desk.

“Now, I know it's short notice, but we need you to write something for the upcoming issue. We won't be opening up our question box until next issue, but for the one in two weeks, we just want a little information about you, what you did before this, how you goy the job. We've learned that when we placed a new writer in a position, we get a better response if they introduce themselves. Can you do that?”

Sergio nodded, “Totally, it's a piece of cake!”

“Great!” Cristiano chapped Sergio on the back, “I'll leave you to it. Tell me when you're done, I'll come check it, then show you how to submit it to the database, so the workers place it in the correct part of the magazine. But that's for a later time.”

“Thanks for everything, Cristiano.” thanked Sergio gratefully, because Cristiano, in all honesty, was nothing but utterly nice and patient with him.

Cristiano gave a sequenced soundless reply, by nodding, smiling, and then exiting the cubicle, leaving Sergio alone.

With all the time and space in the world, Sergio cracked his knuckles, then looked over to the previously powered on computer. He grabbed the mouse, clicking on Microsoft Word, and with a deep breath, began to write.


	4. Trying Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergio walked out into the reception area, his eyes immediately going to James, who was on the phone while scribbling notes on a bright blue notepad. James, hearing someone enter the room, looked up in Sergio's direction with a smile — Sergio was relieved that James wasn't mad at him. But, in a split second, James' smile faltered, and he glanced away from the Spaniard. Now, Sergio was frowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOOOOOPE YOU LIKE THIS! I don't know why this took so long, I apologize sincerely. It's also kind of short, but I needed to update and I think this is something cute and light!

“Sergio, you wrote this?” Cristiano asked, with his eyebrows perfectly arched as his eyes scanned over the computer screen.

Sergio couldn't detect Cristiano's feelings on his piece, and the Spaniard would be lying if he said that didn't bother him a bit. His body language didn't give much away, either, and so Sergio sat and patiently anticipated Cristiano's reaction. Sergio's assignment was to write a get to know me piece that would be enough to span one to two pages. This would be his opening article, and Sergio tried his best to recount all the happenings his life up to now in a lighthearted and comical manner. Sergio had sent it to his best friend, Fernando Torres, who told Sergio that he liked it, for all it's worth. Fernando was the first hurdle, and now the next was Cristiano — and Sergio was desperately hoping Cristiano would like it enough to submit it.

“All in under four hours, señor.”

And Cristiano looked up then; whether or not that was because Sergio had called him señor, and not Cristiano as requested, he'd never know. Cristiano sat himself down in one of the chairs that had been provided for Sergio's cubicle, folding his arms, clearing his throat simultaneously. “Do you want my honest opinion on your piece?”

Sergio fidgeted in his seat, bracing himself for the blow. “I certainly wouldn't want you to sugarcoat it..”

Cristiano smiles at this point of the conversation, “You look as if I'm going to deliver the worst news of your life,” He rolls his eyes playfully, “I liked it, really. It wasn't boring, but it wasn't too fun in a way that would be seen as unprofessional. The jokes you incorporated into your stories were funny.” Cristiano stood up, walking over to the door frame and leaning against it. “Send it to my email and I'll format it for the next issue.”

Sergio, on the inside, was actually very excited about the whole situation, but didn't portray it. On the outside, he was calm, cool, and collected as he thanked Cris, and then told him that he'd send it right away. As soon as Cristiano left the cubicle, Sergio squeaked in happiness, swirling around in his office chair.

Now that this was done, he had one more important thing he needed to do. And while it wasn't work related per say, it had to do with someone in work. Sergio grabbed his wallet from a drawer in his desk, shutting his cubicle door as he walked out. As he walked through the office, he was greeted by the very workers he'd been introduced to on the first day, but the only difference now was that Sergio had befriended them all; except for one, that was.

Sergio walked out into the reception area, his eyes immediately going to James, who was on the phone while scribbling notes on a bright blue notepad. James, hearing someone enter the room, looked up in Sergio's direction with a smile — Sergio was relieved that James wasn't mad at him. But, in a split second, James' smile faltered, and he glanced away from the Spaniard. Now, Sergio was frowning.

Sergio waited until James was off the phone to approach the desk. James looked visibly tense as Sergio came near, and Sergio felt the need to correct his wrong. He leaned against the desk, “Hi, James..”

James nodded, acknowledging Sergio's existence, “Señor R-Ramos.”

Sergio sighed, realizing that he had pegged this relationship back down to square one, where they had originally started. “I told you not to call me that!”

“And did your m-mother ever tell you to use m-manners when you're t-talking to a person?” James asked defiantly, but also deciding it'd be easier to say it without looking at Sergio.

“James.. I'm sorry about what I said, really. I didn't mean it the way it came out. I just, I don't have a filter sometimes, and things just come out.. Okay, what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry, but I can make it up to you.”

James seemed intrigued at this point, “And how will you do that?”

“I'm thinking that I'll treat you out to lunch? You can tell me all about Colombia, and how you like Madrid so far,” And Sergio certainly hopes he sounds convincing, because he feels that in the long run, he'd appreciate the Colombian's friendship. “And maybe we can get some ice cream if we have time? Then you know, we'll come back here and work.”

James was silent, and Sergio was trying to decode the silence; was James indirectly telling Sergio that he didn't want to go to lunch with him, or was he thinking about Sergio's offer?

“Okay. I'll take you up on your offer, señor.” And James was grinning, and Sergio figured that it was a win that he'd gotten James to go with him. “Let me just put the answering machine to direct all calls to señor R-Ronaldo. He always eats lunch in his office, never goes out. He's kind of a workaholic, if you get what I'm saying.” As James speaks, he also multitasks, playing with some buttons on the answering machine with one hand, while writing a note to his two bosses that he'd be back soon.

When James is done, he grabs his jacket — which was bright, banana yellow with the crest of the Colombian football association in the top corner — then glances towards the exit before looking back at Sergio. “Listo, señor?”

And Sergio nods his head, following James to the exit. He slides his sleek, black shades on. “Let's go.”

* * *

“Okay, listen,” Sergio's voice is low and cautious as he takes a seat. It had taken about ten minutes to walk from their office to the small café that James had insisted on eating at for lunch. Despite the fact that Sergio could've really gone for a burger right now, he let James drag him to the more Central European café they were at now. And that was only because Sergio felt the need to make up for his initial rudeness towards the Colombian, and this was step one to achieving that. “I just want to apologize for everything I said. It was out of line.” 

“You think?” James commented, with an underlying tone of cheek. “It hurt my feelings, señor R-Ramos, I'm not going to lie. Do you actually think that I came to M-Madrid to work here? I'm happy with the job, but ideally, it's n-not r-really what I want.” 

Sergio had never seen James so upset before, or rather, this upfront with someone. Then again, he'd only known James for a very brief time. During that period, though, James was fairly soft spoken — able to stand up for himself, yes — but also very nice, and preferred to settle disputes in the peaceful manner possible. So, this was definitely an unusual situation for Sergio, seeing James even slightly irritated. Hesitantly, Sergio raised his eyebrows. “What do you want, then?” 

“I want my own column. I want to i-interview people and write about i-interesting things that i-intrigue p-people. I want to have people r-read my column, and look f-forward to a new edition each w-week.” James got out, his voice shaking slightly. 

Sergio had been meaning to ask James about the stuttering, but afraid that he would unintentionally hurt the Colombian's feelings — again — he hasn't asked. 

“So.. Kind of like what I have?” 

James considers his answer before answering. “Sort o-of. You have an advice column, though. I w-want a column i-in general.”

“Well, have you ever asked Cris — I mean, señor Ronaldo? I'm sure he'd let you start off maybe writing an article, then you could build up from there?”

James' cheeks flared up at the mention of Cristiano, and with a sudden realization, Sergio's eyes widened. But, before jumping to conclusions, Sergio let James speak first. “Señor R-Ronaldo? I-I can't, he's my b-boss and I.. W-Well..”

Sergio gasped, then flung his arms in the air unceremoniously. “You like him don't you?” 

And James was blushing furiously now, his cheeks tinted a bright cherry red. James desperately tried to assure Sergio, claiming that he didn't like Cristiano, but what James didn't know was that Sergio was insatiable. “You do like him! Ah, this is news to me! Awh my baby James is growing up —” 

“— You've only k-known me for —” 

“— MY BABY!” Sergio screams. He eventually settled down, and then he cleared his throat. The Spaniard was serious as the words pass his lips. “We need to set you two up.” 

At this point, James was fidgeting nervously in his seat. He picks at his food slowly, not anticipating Sergio's words. “Set us up?! W-What?! No.. That won't happen, Sergio!” 

And Sergio's determined now, visible by the fierce look on his face. He pouts, “Why not?” 

“No dating in the w-workplace.” James replies effortlessly, and looks at Sergio as if he should've known that already. 

“Hmm.. Okay, true. But, Cristiano's like, the big man of the office, certainly he'd break the rules for a certain Colombian receptionist.” Sergio wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I'm not his t-type!” James protests.

“You don't know that!” Sergio insists. 

“He might not even, well, you know, like g-guys!” 

“And if he does?” 

“He w-wouldn't even consider m-me, anyway. There're plenty of handsome — and pretty — CEOs for him to choose from. Why would he choose me? A f-foreign r-receptionist who's had a c-crush on him for m-months?” 

“That's exactly why he'd choose you! You guys would be the cutest office couple!” Sergio gushes. 

“Sergio —” 

“— I'm going to go talk to him!” Sergio screams, spontaneously hopping up from his seat, and dashing towards the restaurant exit. 

James looks at Sergio's fleeting figure, then back down at the table. “W-Wait, Sergio!” calls James. “You didn't f-finish your f-food!”


End file.
